


TARFU

by sourgummyworms



Series: Things Are Really Kriffed Up [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 79's, Angst, Force-Sensitive Clones (Star Wars), Gen, Kaminoans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rishi (Star Wars), clones deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourgummyworms/pseuds/sourgummyworms
Summary: Nonconnected short stories of clones just trying to get through the war.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Calor/Dral Arpat, Kit Fisto & Monnk, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe
Series: Things Are Really Kriffed Up [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909039
Comments: 83
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter Index

**Author's Note:**

> Clone Wars has sucked me back in with the new season, and quarantine means more time for me to screw off writing fics instead of doing homework!
> 
> Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was getting a bit long, so I thought I would add a chapter index if you just want to read what chapters interest you!

**Chapter One: CT-8234**  
Synopsis: A young clone without a name wakes up with life-threatening injuries.  
Characters: OCs, Kix

**Chapter Two: R &R**  
Synopsis: Anakin buys some time for his troops to rest for a while and asks what they want to do when the war ends.  
Characters: Anakin, Rex, Jesse, Echo, Bad Batch

**Chapter Three: Troop Transfer**  
Synopsis: Pong Krell's battalion gets separated and put under other Jedi's commands. One lucky soldier gets assigned to the 104th.  
Characters: OCs, Plo Koon, Wolffe

**Chapter Four: Promotions**  
Synopsis: With a growing shortage of Jedi Generals, Obi-Wan suggests his commander Cody for the promotion.  
Characters: Cody, Obi-Wan (short appearances of Palpatine, Yoda, Mace, Aayla)

**Chapter Five: Rishi Was Here**  
Synopsis: The story of some graffiti and how it came to be.  
Characters: Tons, like, too many to list.  
Break from the angst short!

**Chapter Six - Eight: Forced**  
Synopsis: CT-8178 goes on his first mission and discovers something he wishes he hadn't.  
Characters: OCs  
Three-part series about a force-sensitive clone!

**Chapter Nine: Tranyc**  
Synopsis: It's the Siege of Mandalore, and a clone trooper helps a Mandalorian.  
Characters: OCs (not mine though)  
Inspired by @pixelchaos00 's initial idea for some background soldiers and @suja-janee 's art of the two!

**Chapter Ten: Business Practices**  
Synopsis: A clone discovers the wonderful underworld of smuggling contraband into the GAR through the journal of a dead man.  
Characters: OCs

**Chapter Eleven: Tides**  
Synopsis: Commander Monnk and his SCUBAs attack an underwater fuel refinery.  
Characters: Monnk, Kit Fisto

**Chapter Twelve: Clone Cuisine**  
Synopsis: Notes on the diet of clones.  
Characters: too many to list  
Another break from the angst short.


	2. CT-8234

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

CT-8234 always thought he would die in a blaze of glory, doing some heroic deed and sacrificing himself to finish the mission. It would be after a long career, with scars on his skin and paint on his scuffed armor. With a name for his brothers to remember him by.

It was just his luck to die a shiny.

Sure, he wasn’t dead yet. He was in a medbay somewhere- probably one of the cruisers above the battle- and couldn’t move much more than his head. He could be just fine with a bit… or a lot of bacta treatment. The last time he had been conscious pain had been his only thought for what felt like hours, but now he just felt light-headed. They must have given him some powerful painkillers

As for now, the medics seemed to be busy with other clones who continued to flood into the medbay. The battle must still be going on or have just ended. CT-8234 tried to figure out what exactly his injuries were. He realized that he could only see out of one eye.

In what felt like no time at all, the painkillers wore off and the firey pain returned. CT-8234 thanked the Force he fell back into unconsciousness quickly.

~

_Kid, wake up._

_What’s his name? Doc, check the datapad._

“CT-8234 you still with us, buddy?”

CT-8234 inhaled sharply and tried to sit up. The eye he could see out of looked at the three blurry figures surrounding his cot. They were other clones, two wearing worn armor and one in scrubs holding a datapad. He tried to talk but the armored trooper closest to him shushed him, pushing his head back down to the pillow. The rest of the room was quiet and the lights were dimmed- it must be late in the day cycle of the ship.

“You’re alright- or, you will be. Just stay quiet,” he said. After rubbing his good eye with a shaky hand CT-8234 could see the other clone was older with salt and pepper hair and stubble to match. “We’ll explain everything, you just listen. I’m Stubs, by the way.”

The other clone in armor was facing toward the entrance to the medbay but turned to acknowledge CT-8234. “I’m Planter. Just here as the lookout.” The man was covered in scars and tattoos; the kind of veteran shinies like CT-8234 looked at in awe.

Finally, the medic smiled at him. “You can call me Doc. You probably want to know how you’re faring?” CT-8234 nodded faintly. “Right. You’re stable right now but we need to get you in a bacta tank soon before that changes.” He paused again when something echoed in the hallway. Planter raised a hand before leaving, presumably to investigate.

Doc continued. “You would be alive, but you wouldn’t be able to fight. You might not walk for a long time, either.” He barely let CT-8234 process the news before barreling on. “The longnecks don’t see you as worth the waste of supplies if you aren’t useful. The Republic doesn’t say anything.

“Standard protocol is to have you decommissioned.”

CT-8234 froze. He’d heard rumors, stories, before on Kamino but he didn’t think they were ever true. He didn’t think it would be _him_ -

“It’s okay, you’re safe, ‘34. We would never let that happen to any brother,” Stubs said quickly. He turned back to look at the medic. “Doc, you have to stop pausing after you tell them that! This happens every kriffing time.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” CT-8234 rasped. It was the first time he had spoken since he woke up. It barely even sounded like a voice, but it was there, and it was his.

“We’ll get you healed up, and get you out of here. We have a bacta tank we can get you in for a few hours, then some contacts who can get you out discreetly. They’re-”

“What’s going on here?” Someone hissed. They came into the room, Planter hot on his heels.

“I couldn’t distract him-”

“Doc, what are you doing?” CT-8234 could see it was another medic, higher ranking, too.

Stubs tensed near CT-8234. Doc hardened his face. “He’s on death row, we’re getting the kid out of here.”

“I-” the medic sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “This is a huge risk, you have to be more careful.”

“We are, Kix. We have extra bacta that isn’t in inventory, our contacts are trustworthy, we know what we’re doing.”

“Do you have proof?”

“Of what?”

“Proof that the men you’re saving are actually safe, dammit!” He growled, still keeping quiet to keep others from waking. The others looked to Stubs. He pulled a compact holo from a pocket and turned it on.

The blue light flickered to show a still image of at least a dozen clones. They were all in some state of recovery from serious injuries. Some were missing arms or legs, others patched up in bandages, but they were alive.

“That village in the outer rim we liberated a few months back,” Doc explained. “They took ‘em in, gave ‘em jobs. They have their lives. Hell, they’ll probably outlive us.”

CT- 8234 had dreamed of dying in combat because how else would he die? There were no other options for him. That’s just how it was. Now there was something new on the table. Something close to life as a natural-born Republic civilian, although probably not legally. He hadn’t been trained for that, but clone troopers were built to be adaptable. If the others could figure it out, and they seemed happy in the holo, then CT-8234 could too.

~

Kix helped them load CT-8234 into the bacta tank. By the time he emerged, he was exhausted again. His body didn’t hurt much anymore but his vision still only came from one eye, and his legs were useless except for a few twitches.

“It’ll take time,” Doc assured him. “But you’ll walk.”

The contacts came in the form of a small group of smugglers. While they unloaded candy bars, flimsi magazines, and bacta, CT-8234 was loaded on in their place. They assured him he would only have to hide in the crates for a few hours before they arrived.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He didn’t know what else to say, but it also didn’t feel like enough for saving his life.

Stubs gave him a thin smile. “No problem, kid.”

“Let me know if you decide on a name. I’ll add it to my records,” Doc added. CT-8234 nodded enthusiastically. He’d brainstorm on the trip.

Planter gave him a thumbs-up and Kix gave him a chocolate bar. Then they closed the lid on the crate and CT-8234 was no longer a soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic. He was a deserter, and he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know what TARFU stands for, I highly suggest googling it :)


	3. R&R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin buys some time for his troops to rest for a while and asks what they want to do when the war ends.

Free time in active combat was few and far between. There was always another battle, another mission, more paperwork. The natural-born officers like the admirals and Jedi generals were lucky enough to have vacation days, but clones could only hope for that luxury in what small bits they got it.

When the 501st along with Clone Force 99 won their campaign on a smaller planet- there had only been one moderately sized droid factory- all they had left to do was regroup and make their way back to the _Resolute_. General Skywalker stopped them before the pilots could fire up the LAAT gunships. “We’re not leaving yet. I asked the Council for another day to do repairs before we fly out to meet up with the 212th,” he explained.

“But Sir, we don’t need any repairs,” Rex said hesitantly.

Skywalker gave him a sly smile. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. If we don’t have any repairs to do, we might as well take the day off.”

The troops could all agree General Skywalker was one of the good ones. He didn’t see them as expendable, and he never overworked them, at least knowingly (Jedi stamina was far greater than even their enhanced strength, the General forgot that sometimes). Making up some R&R for them was just another bonus.

The General had probably come up with his scheme on the spot after seeing the planet. The hemisphere they were on was in its summer season, and the view from the base camp was breathtaking. The smoldering remains of the droid factory made it even more lovely. The 501st pulled out contraband food and drink from their packs and gathered near campfires dotted around the base. For the first time in months, they rested.

~

Anakin didn’t want to intrude on his troop’s good time, but as he walked around the groups they would wave him over to tell him a joke or offer him some contraband they knew he wouldn’t report them for. Sometimes he worried Obi-Wan was right and was too lax with his troops, but if the result was that they were happy? That was good in his books.

He ended up settling around a campfire with his usual group- Rex, Kix, Jesse, Echo and the rest of his new squad. They talked, laughed, and reminisced until they ran out of things to talk about. It took a while and it had gotten late, but nobody seemed to be heading to their tents. Anakin searched his head for something else. Maybe a question to ask his troops? While the older Jedi who were never on the front line saw the clones as… well, clones, he had quickly come to know they were as individual as anyone else. Their strong individuality had always been impressive to Anakin. It made them good soldiers and good friends. He wondered how their lives would be different outside of the GAR?

“I know,” Anakin perked up. “What do you all plan to do after the war ends?”

The surrounding clones stared at him. “Sir?” Echo hedged. His hair had grown out enough to cover the bolts in his head and he had gained back some of his weight and color. Still, his dark eyes looked confused.

Anakin sighed. “Come on, you have to have some idea. One day, this war’s gonna end- with the way we’ve been pulling ahead it might be soon- and you can do something else. Get married, start a family, settle somewhere nice like Naboo-”

“We clones don’t like to think that far ahead, sir. It’s false hope. No reason to think ahead further than the end of a battle,” Rex said numbly. He watched the crackling fire in the center of the group. The others watched their General for his response, but none objected to Rex’s statement.

“I guess I never thought about how different it is for you,” Anakin said. “I probably shouldn’t have to ask this but... Are you even citizens?”

Hunter replied to the question with a thin laugh. “We’re property.” Anakin stiffened. He thought of Zygerria, of Tattooine, and how different they were from the Republic in his mind. “They’ll just find another use for us after the war.”

“I’ll talk to Padmé, the Senator. She can help you. With everything you do for the Republic you deserve to be citizens of it.” Anakin said, assuring himself more than the clones.

“With public opinion of clones in most of the galaxy being negative, that would be a challenging bill to pass,” argued Tech. “The probability of it happening is very low.”

“It would be nice though, wouldn’t it? I mean, I could train to be a real doctor. Work at Grand Republic Medical,” Kix mused. With one answer out in the open, the others described what they had in mind.

Jesse had a bucket list a mile long with a fair amount already crossed off. The items on his list that still needed to be tackled included having a meal at a restaurant and going on a date. Hunter looked forward to finding some uncolonized planet with no ‘noise’ to irritate his heightened senses. Tech confessed he wanted to work in the private sector; use his skills to run a successful business. Wrecker wanted to be famous, and after some cajoling Crosshair mumbled something about going to jail. He just wanted to see what it was like, apparently.

“I haven’t really thought about it. A life of republic training isn’t worth much in the civilian sector. What about you?” Echo shrugged, looking to Rex.

“I think I like the General’s suggestion. Sounds nice,” Rex smiled. He received a few ‘oohs’ and nudges asking who the lucky lady would be, but the captain only rolled his eyes and tried to hide his smile.

Anakin looked around the group. “I truly hope you all get what you want- maybe not Crosshair, though. I would worry about the safety of other prisoners.” Crosshair grumbled, throwing the toothpick he had been chewing into the fire.

“What about you, General? I can’t see you being stuck in the Temple all day,” Echo asked.

Anakin pursed his lips. “Hopefully I can join the council one day, but there’s a lot more I want to do when this is over. I’m just not sure if I’ll be able to.”

The bad batchers looked confused at his vagueness but the blue-armored clones nodded in understanding. Jesse patted his shoulder. 

“Dumb Jedi rules,” said Rex. He looked at Anakin knowingly. “If General Kid-Adi-Mundi can have wives, there’s hope for you yet, Sir.”

Anakin’s eyes widened and the campfire felt hotter on his cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean by that-”

Rex cut him off with a yawn. “Look at the time! We’d better get some beauty sleep, boys.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Cap. You regs all look the same anyway,” Hunter joked. He waved a hand for the others to follow him back to the tents. Anakin watched them leave and bicker about whether or not Rex’s blond hair counted if it was shaved. He put out the fire with a nudge of the Force.

~

At 0600 hours before they would have to pack up and return to duty, the camp was completely silent. Not one clone seemed restless as Anakin wandered around the tents and burned-out fires. He had tried to sleep earlier but as usual, it had been fruitless. In six hours they would be back to fighting. Shoving down his fear of losing yet another friend had become second nature and yet it still the pain was growing exponentially. Now though, he wondered how the others felt. The way they had been talking about their dreams had always been prefaced by a silent _If I survive_.

When the ships had been ‘repaired’ and packed the men seemed well-rested and content. Some were looking forward to getting back in the fight, others hid their shaking hands while they cleaned their blasters. Anakin always noticed, but for now, he had done all he could to ease their tension. Rex waved for him to get into a LAAT; one of the last the leave the planet. He hopped on with the others from the campfire the night before. Anakin listened to the hum of the engines and tried to fit in a moment of meditation before they were back on the _Resolute_.

“Hey, I decided where I want to be after the war,” Echo said, breaking the silence in the transport. “Wherever my brothers are.”

Anakin thought it was a bit cheesy, but the clones quickly and loudly agreed. Wherever they settled, it would be together. Kix would be there to patch everyone up like always. Jesse added the new goal of meeting every clone to his bucket list. The bad batch would always stick together, with Tech making the money to finance whatever adventures… or messes they got into.

There was a new air of excitement as they returned to the _Resolute_. The sooner they won, the sooner they could live out the rest of their accelerated lives. Anakin couldn’t wait to see where they would go. The future was clouded more than ever, but he hoped they were all on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Kid-Ad-Mundi had multiple wives apparently because his species had low birth rates or something. Anakin is probably very jealous of this exception.


	4. Troop Transfer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pong Krell's battalion gets separated and put under other Jedi's commands. One lucky soldier gets assigned to the 104th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plo Koon is my favorite Jedi/clone dad so of course he's in this fic!

The lights inside the LAAT flickered as the transport landed in the hangar. The solitary clone inside gripped his pack tighter. He hated being in empty transports at the end of a gruesome battle. This time though, he wasn’t coming back to the Venator he was used to. He was being transferred to a new battalion- the 104th under General Plo Koon.

It sounded too much like Pong Krell. He would never get that out of his head.

Outside the opening door stood the commander- Wolffe, if he remembered correctly. He saluted crisply.

“CT-8008 reporting for duty.”

Wolffe’s bucket tipped to the side. “At ease,” He directed. “You’re no shiny, got a name?”

“Oh,” he blinked. He had gotten used to simply using his number. He had a name of course, but couldn’t remember using it since leaving Kamino. “It’s Benji, sir.”

“You’re from the 130th, right? Krell’s battalion?”

Benji nodded. Wolffe sighed. He turned to stand next to the trooper and led him to the hangar exit. “I’m sorry, Benji. That bastard got away with murder for too long. If I could’ve got my hands on him-” Wolffe growled. Benji wondered what General Koon was like if his second in command acted like this. General Krell’s commander rarely spoke outside of military work, and when he did it wasn’t insults. Sure, he had heard his old general became a traitor before his death, but Benji had known him to always follow protocol and win countless, hellish, battles. “Anyways, I’m also sorry that no one else from your squad is here, we had no control over where Krell’s troops were transferred- came from up top."

Benji shrugged. “I don’t mind, sir. I didn’t know any of them too well. We got replacements often enough we stopped bothering to learn names.”

Wolffe stopped in his tracks so suddenly Benji had to backtrack to stand next to him again. He looked around for why the commander had stopped. They were halfway through the barracks hallways but no other troops were there waiting. They weren’t near the entrance to any rooms, either. “Sir?” he asked. Wolffe shook his head quickly.

“Right. Let’s just get you settled, alright?”

Benji nodded and followed him the rest of the way. Wolffe didn’t ask any more questions.

He stopped at the end of the hall, gesturing to the quarters. The small room was crammed with shelves and scattered armor, and bunk beds lined the walls. On the far end of the room was a small port window. The four clones in the room stood at attention for their commander, who quickly waved them to relax. He introduced them; Benji listened to the names but reminded himself to not put them to faces. They would be gone in two or three missions. He put his pack down on an empty bunk and faced his commander again.

“What are my orders, sir?”

“Nothing yet, Benj. We won’t arrive on the front for another week,” Wolffe assured him.

“I can be of use, I don’t have any assignments yet,” Benji tried to explain. His commander just sighed and shook his head. Had he done something wrong? Wolffe pulled his helmet off and gave Benji a strange look. He still had his own helmet on, but still avoided looking at the clone’s cybernetic eye.

“Just relax for now, okay? Settle in and get some shut-eye. You’ll get some short patrol shifts tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wolffe looked tired and waved him off. He nodded to the others and left without another word. Benji turned back to the room. He mumbled hellos to his squad and went directly to his bunk. If he had no assignments, he got sleep when he could. You never know when your next chance would be.

~

The next day Benji went to work immediately, putting off food until his lunch break. He quickly noticed how very different life was under his new general. Assigned to unloading supplies in the hangar, the first thing that caught his eye was the paint jobs on the LAATs. General Krell had strictly forbidden it with the reasoning that they made the ships stand out more.

 _Plo’s Bros_ , the nose art read. Benji wondered what that meant in regards to Plo- General Koon. Did the clones consider him a brother?

He was left confused again when the general made an appearance halfway through his shift. Benji risked a look to see what he was doing (being noticed was never a good thing, better to be subtle), surprised to see him talking and laughing with a group of clones. He even helped them tinker on one of the fighters. At one point the general glanced near where he was watching. Benji quickly turned and got back to work, but had he seen General Koon waving? He shook the thought out of his head and tried to return to his work, but was stopped by another officer.

“Take a break, brother. You’ve been working all morning.”

Benji shrugged. “I’m fine, sir. And my shift isn’t over yet.”

The clone stared back. “Yes it is. It’s been four hours.”

“Aren’t shifts eight hours?” he asked.

The offer sighed. “Right, you’re the Krell transfer. Go get some grub and take a break.”

Benji saluted and left for the mess hall. Had Krell really been that different from other Jedi generals? Or was General Koon the odd one out?

Benji couldn’t decide if he liked the mess hall on this ship. On one hand, it was loud and crowded unlike anything he had seen since his flash-training days, but on the other, it was somewhat comforting. He was surrounded by brothers, and even if he didn’t know them too well, it was practically as safe and secure as one could be. It also gave him a final realization about his new battalion, the biggest difference that he had been trying to put words to: there were no shinies. Nearly none, at least. The light grey paint didn’t stand out as much as brighter colors would but the streaks and patterns were there. Benji couldn’t remember a time when veteran soldiers outnumbered new stock under Krell. His armor was scuffed and old, but he had never bothered to paint it- too distracting, Krell had said. Just like the nose art on ships or using names. Grey wasn’t too distracting, though, right?

~

Plo knew he was receiving a transfer from the dissolving battalion under Pong Krell. It was easy to pick him out from others, too. He avoided attention, and his armor was undecorated. While his other men waved hello as he passed by, the new clone shied away, avoiding his gaze.

He might just have to introduce himself.

As he got closer, Plo could feel the trooper’s weariness in the Force. It wasn’t an uncommon emotion for older soldiers, but his was bone-deep. He had been this way for a while with no change, and Plo was determined to help.

“Good afternoon, trooper. I never got the chance to say hello yesterday, or get your name?” He smiled under his antiox mask, pinching his cheeks.

The clone had frozen as Plo walked up to him unloading supplies; he had been working here earlier when he had first caught Plo’s eye. He saluted. “Ah, good afternoon, sir. My name- it’s Benji. CT-8-”

Plo waved him at ease. “Benji, what a nice name. And I do not need your number. That isn't what I would use on the battlefield, after all.”

“Yes… sir,” Benji replied. Even with a helmet on Plo could sense his utter confusion.

“‘I’d like to get to know you better,” he barrelled on. “Why don’t you accompany me for tea?”

Plo ended up doing most of the talking. Benji seemed too shocked to do more than the bare minimum of replying “Yes, sir” to the general. He was used to his transfers being unaccustomed to the way he acted compared to other Jedi, but not nearly this much. The brief report Captain Rex had written must have only scratched the surface of Pong Krell’s abuse of his soldiers, and that was only after he had officially turned coat.

“I hate to bring up talk of war right now,” Plo started. “But I need to know where the best place to stage you and your squad would be. What are your strengths? What strategies do you usually employ?”

Benji opened his mouth a few times before he found his words. Without his helmet on (he had taken it off after Plo had reminded him it was hard to drink tea with one on), he seemed confused. Whether it was from the questions, his new treatment, or something else, Plo could only guess. “I-I’m not sure, sir. General Krell decided on strategy, that’s the general’s job, right?”

Plo nodded for him to continue.

“I would go on full-frontal assaults to shield the general. That’s what we’re for, to protect Jedi with our lives. I can do that for you as well, sir. A-and I can take more shifts, too,” he offered. “I don’t want to slack off when there's more work I could be doing.”

Plo put down his tea, bringing his hand to the clone’s shoulder. “I can sense you holding yourself back. You must understand, the way you have been treated is unfair. Pong Krell may have been a Jedi in name but he did not act like one. You and every clone deserve respect and as much ease as I am able to give you during a war. You are _not_ just another number, you are _not_ cannon fodder, you are Benji. Now that you are a part of this battalion I want you to embrace that.”

Benji’s eyes were wide, and for a moment Plo was satisfied that he had gotten through to him. Then, his commlink lit up and Benji blinked. As if suddenly realizing who he was sitting with, Benji straightened in his seat. “Yes, sir.”

Plo sighed and patted his shoulder. “I apologize, but I must return to the bridge. Just remember you are always welcome to tea with me in the future, son.”

~

Had General Koon really said all those things? Had he really called him son? What kind of test was this?

After a few more days on the ship, Benji got the courage to ask someone. He had decided on Delta, the oldest member of his squad. He had caved into remembering their names but promised himself he could just as easily forget them. He brought up his strange interaction with General Koon at the firing range.

Delta laughed. “It’ not some trick or test, kid. He just likes to look out for us.”

“Oh,” Benji replied.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Most newbies are surprised by it. The general’s a rare one.”

He was still unsure, but Delta had been in the Wolfpack, as he called it, for his entire career. The clone even had graying hairs. That was a rarity everywhere but here, Benji had noticed.

“Pay attention, kid. We got a big fight comin’ tomorrow,” Delta nudged his shoulder.

“Right, sorry.” Benji returned to aiming at targets. He reprimanded himself for forgetting. Losing focus got you killed. Focusing on something so stupid like a conversation or learning some brother’s names who would just die anyways was dangerous.

~

The battle, like most others in Benji’s mind, was a blur. At first he was in a briefing led by General Koon and Commander Wolffe (not just standing there, actually leading alongside the Jedi, having a say in what happened and wasn’t that strange?) and the next second he’s deployed on the rocky ground of an outer rim planet. He followed his squad to their position, and prepared himself for waves of enemy droids. Instead, they appeared in the canyon below him. He helped Delta pick off B1s for the better part of the day, watching other groups assault the Separatist army according to Wolffe’s battle plan.

From their vantage point the droids barely noticed them, but when they did the squad would find cover until the droids lost their scent. There were a few close calls, but then a blazing blue lightsaber would cut through the nearing droids. The single blade, much thinner than Pong Krell’s ‘sabers had been, deflected bolts away from troopers. General Koon was always in between the fire and his men, not behind them.

The fighting lasted hours but it felt like the shortest of Benji’s life. When the call came in to return to base camp, he walked back with his whole squad. He passed by the general and commander, who were looking over a datapad. Benji couldn’t say he understood the facial expressions of a Kel Dor half-covered by a mask, but General Koon seemed sad, or disappointed. Had they done something wrong?

As he packed his blaster away, he overheard (he wasn’t eavesdropping- he was a good soldier!) what the report was. Casualty numbers. Wolffe was reading off names, not numbers, and when he got to the end of the list he gave the total: of the two companies in the ground battle there were five serious injuries and fifteen deaths. A 5% casualty rate. Pong Krell’s record low was 20%.

Benji felt relieved, but General Koon and Commander Wolffe hung their heads. They didn’t seem to realize how amazing what they had accomplished was. He stood up to the confusion of his squad and steeled himself before marching up to the officers.

“Sir, if I may say something?” Benji started. General Koon turned to him and raised his eyebrows. He nodded for him to continue. “I’ve never in all my life heard a casualty report so short. You did everything to not only win, but protect us. You even saved my skin a few times. I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

With Commander Wolffe’s helmet off he could see the proud grin he gave him. The general may have told him thank you or called him son again, but the sound out of his vocoder was garbled (only Wolffe knew that was the sound of his general stifling tears).

Later, Benji found a small paint can and brush on his bunk. It was a simple welcome to the Wolfpack but nonetheless meaningful. He sat down to get to work on his armor and paused to look up at his squad.

“I could use some help if you guys aren’t-” he was cut off by resounding yeses. They got to work painting over the scratched white armor and using their armor for reference of the wolfpack insignia.

The campaign would last weeks, it would be tough, but for the first time Benji looked forward to the end of it with the certainty that he and his brothers would see the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does Plo drink tea? We may never know.  
> Probably a straw.


	5. Promotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a growing shortage of Jedi Generals, Obi-Wan suggests his commander Cody for the promotion.

“Such a tragedy,” Chancellor Palpatine lamented. “The death of yet another Jedi Master. Master Tiplee gave her life to fight this war, and we must prevail victorious.”

Obi-Wan hung his head. He had been in meetings all day relaying the bad news alongside Mace and Aayla. Their final meeting was with the Chancellor, who was in his office accompanied by Master Yoda. Their holograms were distorted and spotty with the distance they were from the inner rim.

“This does, however, bring up the question of who will take leadership of her forces. Are there any promising padawans that can be fast-tracked to knighthood?” the Chancellor asked.

“No,” Mace answered. “None are experienced enough right now. If Padawan Tano had not left…”

“Dwell on the past, we must not,” Yoda cut him off. “Find another solution, we can.”

Palpatine seemed to perk up. “Perhaps this is a good time to implement non-Jedi into more positions. There has been talk in the senate of it since there is a growing- pardon my language- shortage of Jedi.”

Mace and Yoda frowned, they seemed against the idea. Aayla, not usually here for these meetings and only here to report on the attack, pursed her lips in thought. Obi-Wan thought too. If a non-Jedi were to lead clone forces, who would be a good candidate?

“Cody,” he said.

“Cody?” the chancellor asked innocently. “Cody who?”

Obi-Wan clasped his hands behind his back, straightening his posture. “Marshall Commander Cody. He’s my second in command. I nominate him for the position of general.”

“A clone?” Palpatine was baffled. “They were not created for such an important position.”

 _We barely know what they were created for_ , Obi-Wan thought. Mace and Yoda once again didn’t seem to like the idea, but Aayla was nodding enthusiastically. “I agree with Obi-Wan, Chancellor. Bly and I have worked with Commander Cody before and if any clone could lead a battalion as general it would be him.”

Obi-Wan pushed on. “He’s an amazing leader, has helped me win countless battles, and is a competent soldier in his own right. Not to mention as a clone himself he would know better than any of us how to lead his brothers- any disadvantage he has in not being a Jedi is solved by that.”

“Yes, I see, Master Kenobi, we can discuss this further at a later time,” Palpatine said airily. He waved a hand as if to physically move past the subject.

“Alright, but I do believe Cody would be the best candidate for general-”

“Sorry to interrupt, your excellency,” a voice came through the holocall off-screen. It sounded like one of the Coruscant guards, accent muffled through a helmet and the glitchy connection. “You’re needed for a press conference.”

The chancellor stood up from his desk. “Ah, yes. Sorry Masters, but I am needed elsewhere.” He bowed, and hung up.

“That man…” Aayla scoffed. Obi-Wan seconded with an eye-roll. He could never understand what was going through the politician's head. After some quick good-byes and may-the-Force-be-with-yous, he found his way back to his quarters.

The war was slogging on into its third year and still there seemed to be no end in sight. Obi-Wan hoped some change would come along soon, and maybe Cody being promoted was that change. Force knew the man deserved it. But, as much as he hoped it would happen, Obi-Wan knew how negatively clones were viewed by citizens and politicians alike. It was a long shot to bring up the idea. Then again, the Order’s image in the public eye wasn’t much better. Despite the difficulty, he would push for it if he could. It was the least he could do for his commander.

~

Word spread fast among the Grand Army. One soldier stationed on guard duty outside the chancellor’s office can overhear one mention of Commander Cody being a candidate for general, and by the end of a rotation all of Coruscant Guard would know. In less than a week, it’s to the outer rim, but the message has changed after passing through hundreds of sources. By the time it hit the 212th the rumor is _General_ Cody has been promoted.

“General,” Cody remarked over his mug of caf. “Do you have any clue why the shinies have been calling me ‘general’?”

Obi-Wan nearly choked on his tea. It had been a week since that meeting. He sighed. “These baseless rumors spread so fast. Well, not completely baseless.”

Cody lifted his head up. “Not completely?”

“You aren’t a general but, I may have suggested you for the position,” the Jedi explained. He sat down opposite Cody. “Perhaps I should have told you.”

“No, it’s fine. Great, actually,” Cody said. He was surprised but flattered that the general would do that. Excited, even, that he was up for promotion.

Obi-Wan relaxed. “That’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to put you somewhere you didn't want to be. That being said, I’m sorry to disappoint that they are just rumors for now. Who knows, though? Maybe soon we’ll all be calling you General.”

“Sounds nice, sir, it really does. But… it’s not going to happen,” Cody mumbled.

He didn’t have to explain his reasoning. They both knew the roadblocks in the way. “Have faith,” was all Obi-Wan answered.

~  
  


Was it arrogant to think he would make an amazing general?

Cody found himself imagining what it would be like. He’d work with Commander Doom- he couldn't remember the last time he’d spoken to him since growing up on Kamino. Would he still wear his armor, and have to repaint it? Or would he wear the crisp grey uniforms like the admirals did, maybe something closer to a Jedi tunics? He thought back to the early days of the clone wars when General Kenobi would wear full armor until he decided it was too restricting. He would miss working with Obi-Wan, but he would be given the chance to do so much. He could even keep working with the 212th like they always fought alongside the 501st.

He could set the precedent for more brothers to be considered for top positions, and with being a general or admiral came more authority. He could make changes within the GAR, make conditions better for clones.

Cody let his thoughts spiral for another day before he received a message alongside General Kenobi on the bridge.

It was a prerecorded message from the Supreme Chancellor. The background noise of the bridge quieted down suspiciously as the message started.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi for your suggestion to appoint Commander Cody to general. Sadly, I have chosen another candidate, Cassio Tagge, instead.”

Cody wished he had his helmet on right about now. He tried to hide the disappointment on his face from the room. The chancellor continued.

“I am _so_ sorry to have to disappoint the commander, I really am, but you know how politics are. Not only does Tagge’s family run important mining and food production operations for the war effort…” he blabbed on. Cody stopped listening, turning away from the monitor. Thankfully Obi-Wan shut it off soon after. He began to speak, but Cody cut him off.

“It’s fine, really,” he insisted. “At least I still get to work with you, sir.”

“I’ll keep pushing for it, Cody. It will happen eventually,” Obi-Wan promised.

Cody nodded and put his helmet back on. He got back to work. The rest of the bridge turned back to their stations like nothing had happened. To be fair, nothing really had. That was the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on the last chapters they're all so nice!  
> I'm starting to run low on chapter prompts, so if there's anything you'd really like to see feel free to leave suggestions!


	6. Rishi Was Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of some graffiti and how it came to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! After the AMAZING episode 10 I thought some lighter material might be in order. This chapter is more of a short outline of some ideas for fun. It’s based on the ‘Kilroy was here’ graffiti from WWII that was popular for soldiers to draw. Enjoy!

It’s hard to pinpoint when or exactly where it started, only that it was on the small outpost on Rishi in the weeks leading up to its destruction. It was probably Cutup who drew the first doodle, maybe something Droidbait had sketched. However it started, it kept going.

The ‘it’ in question was a simple drawing of a phase I clone helmet, occasionally accompanied by the phrase ‘Rishi was here’ scrawled in Aurebesh. Nothing special, but entertaining enough for bored troops on a moon outpost.

The tradition truly started when Fives and Echo were brought into the 501st. Rishi made an appearance on each planet they conquered, finding homes on wall faces and carved in stone on recovering battlefields. The other picked it up quickly.

After a few months, a can of spray paint can be found in the supply pack of nearly every squad.

When Jedi catch their men throwing up the symbol on missions, some roll their eyes but most think it’s all in good fun. General Skywalker, especially. He helps his troops find the perfect spot to paint Rishis for maximum visibility. 

After one hard-fought campaign, Jesse gives the honors to Commander Tano. She’s honored and does her best, but the drawing looks more like a half-melted droid head than anything. The commander decides she’s better with ‘sabers than spray paint.

Soon, Rishi was everywhere. Geonosis, Felucia, Ryloth, Crystal City, back alleys near 79’s.

Rishi was anywhere the clones went.

The enemy didn’t quite know what to make of the graffiti they found. The battle droids barely noticed but tacticians like Admiral Trench theorized Rishi was some well-traveled agent. A commando, maybe, who liked to brag their accomplishments. Rishi was as elusive as an undercover Jedi, with the cockiness of a cadet.

It certainly doesn’t help the Separatists when the clones get ahold of their rumors. They start using it as a scare tactic- putting tags as deep into CIS territory as they can get them, and wherever they fight.

Even certain individuals outside of the army catch on. Asajj Ventress, ex-sith apprentice/Separatist commander and current freelance bounty hunter, was one of them. She found enjoyment in tagging her old stomping grounds, wherever she managed to sneak past defenses. It was a small yet effective way to torment Dooku (if sending a magicked-up double agent Night Brother didn’t work, this was the next best thing).

It certainly worried the Count that somehow this Rishi was getting so far into enemy territory unnoticed, but no matter how hard they looked, nobody could catch the mysterious artist in the act.

Even if Rishi wasn’t a real person, he made the war a little more fun where he could.

~

_Years_ later, rebels wonder why the veterans laugh at the strange doodles on the walls of the abandoned bunkers

Chipped clones catch them in the corner of their eyes with a strange feeling, only half-remembering why they’re there.

Sabine hails them as a huge inspiration and points them out excitedly when she catches one.

Luke wonders what the strange carving on old Ben’s wall is when he visits for tea. The old wizard chuckles and mutters something about ‘Boil always saying they made any hideout feel like home’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to keep writing these stories but I'm running low on ideas, so let me know if there's anything you want to see!


	7. Forced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CT-8178 goes on his first mission and discovers something he wishes he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was prompted by LinNight22! Thanks for the suggestion!

The Kaminoans knew cloning better than any sentients. They had perfected it over centuries. They, more than anyone else understood than even the best cloning technology would make a few mistakes. It was inevitable. Usually, it was the misplacement of a few key genomes that affected anything from hair color to spinal mutation. It could be detected early, but there was no way of knowing what the outcome would be.

According to this logic, it could be possible, even the smallest amount, that a clone could be different in an unexpected way.

~

The recycled air inside the LAAT was stale. It was buzzing with tension, too. The twenty or so troopers crammed inside leaned back and forth with the ship as it made its way into the atmosphere. CT-8178 tightened his grip on his blaster. This was his first mission and he was not planning on screwing it up. With a few batchmates in his squad and becoming fast friends with another shiny, he didn’t feel too scared. Nervous was a better way of putting it. Something mechanical whirred, and the slats of the doors opened to hot, dusty wind. He immediately missed the recycled air. At least it was cool.

The trooper next to him nudged his arm. It was hard to tell who was who under the plain armor but CT-8178 remembered Steele had hopped on next to him. The two had immediately clicked after being assigned to the same squad, CT-8178’s batchmates joking that ‘opposites attract’. Where he was hesitant and quiet, Steele was sure-footed and loud.

“You ready, seventy-eight? Got your war face on?” he shouted. His accent had a strange twang, probably picked up from one of the bounty-hunter trainers.

“Nobody can see our faces, Steele. We’re wearing helmets.,” CT-8178 sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be, a bit nervous, though."

“We don’t have time to be nervous, boys! We’re moving out, go!” yelled their squad leader. He was one of CT-8178’s batchmates also without a name. He could tell the responsible man would go far in the GAR ranks. A moment later the group was slammed around again as the transport landed forcefully. The door slid open, letting in more dust and hot air. CT-8178’s feet barely touched the ground as they ran for the rendezvous point. Blasts shook the ground but he kept pace with the others. He wouldn’t get left behind. He would keep his head down, stay in line, and get through this fight and the next one and the next one after that.

He stopped behind his squad leader only to start running again after receiving directions from a captain; CT-8178 couldn’t see which one. From what he could make out, they were running to flank the right side of the droids. He couldn’t make out who was who, but ran closer to one of the troopers and hoped it was Steele.

More blasts ripped through the air until one especially deafening one. “Get to cover!” someone ordered. He obeyed, sliding under a nearby rock outcropping before looking up to see what the explosion had been.

It was an entire starship. A Separatist one, thankfully, but some hotshot bomber probably hadn't realized what happened when a ship stopped working- it fell to the ground and didn't care who it hit. The ship was too low in the atmosphere for the parts to burn up and although it had been dropping off enemy droids it was close enough to the center of fighting that CT-8178’s squad was in danger. His rock cover should be fine, though, and the others all seemed to be able to fit in as well. Except for one clone who was still yards away, on the ground.

“Who is that? Who’s here?” the squad leader rasped through the dust. The others sounded off, still staring at the lone man. The only name CT-8178 didn’t hear after mumbling his was…

“STEELE!” he screamed. He was still on the ground, struggling to get up. There was something around his ankle- a gnarled root. He couldn’t get up because he had tripped on a root and tons of shrapnel was going to land on him in seconds.

CT-8178 reached a hand out as his brothers watched in resigned fear. There had to be something he could do, but going out there would be suicide- there just wasn’t enough time. His hand still outreached like he could actually do something, CT-8178 felt something in him or maybe around him or maybe both- snap. He watched the root snap and break too. Steele jolted but got his bearings quickly and sprinted for cover. He slid under the boulder and watched with the others as a chunk of durasteel slammed into the ground where he had been seconds ago.

CT-8178 had no idea what had just happened, and for the following hours he pushed it to the back of his mind. There was a battle to be won first. It stubbornly returned as the fighting waned for the night, droids needing to recharge their batteries and clones needing shut-eye.

Had he done that?

It was a stupid question to ask but something just forced it to stick.

~

When he had been assigned to the 41st, the first thing CT-8178 did was find what information on the corps he could. The long necks wouldn’t say much, just passive-aggressively complained about their Jedi command- Unduli and occasionally Yoda. From veteran brothers visiting Tipoca City he heard more. Commander Gree sounded amazing, but the Jedi generals had mixed reviews.

General Unduli ran Green Company alongside Gree, but CT-8178 was in Arbor Company. This one was, as he’d heard from a heavily tattooed clone, ‘mostly under Yoda’. The small Jedi was apparently more often than not away from his soldiers, busy with Jedi business. 

“Sure, he’s nice to the boys,” one vet conceded. “But as much as he values us like any other person the guy values _everyone_ a little less than _jetiise_.”

CT-8178 always remembered how the clone had used the Mando’a translation. After Fett had died it was less common for cadets to learn the language. He only knew a few words, and rarely used them. As for the rest of what the older clone had said, CT-8178 could only take his word for it.

Now that he was here, one campaign into his career and had still not seen the famed Jedi he was beginning to understand the complaint. He’d heard Jedi were much nicer to their troops, especially those who often fought back-to-back with them. The natborn admirals and deck officers that were in charge in Yoda’s absence were less caring. They tended to delegate most of their duties to the commander and captains of Arbor company, who did their best, but were more often than not swamped in work.

Luckily for CT-8178, his tight-knit squad got by well enough. After their first harrowing battle, he was relieved that Steele had recovered quickly from his near-death experience. They were back on their company’s star destroyer when Steele retold his daring heroics to another squad over lunch. CT-8178 laughed at the exaggerations.

“-and then I RIPPED the thing in half with the last of my strength and slid to safety!”

“Aw, banthashit. You didn’t rip that thing. It looked like it exploded, I saw it,” argued another trooper. The others agreed.

Steele grumbled. “That’s impossible and dumb as hell. You tell ‘em, ‘78.”

“Ah, it was-” CT-8178 blanked. It _had_ ripped apart of its own accord, that was true. But if he agreed with his squad they might start overthinking like he had been doing every night since he-

Since he had done absolutely nothing. “It was luck. I think I saw a stray blaster shot. It was also lucky you didn’t immediately trip again on your two left feet.”

He got a few laughs and a playful shove from Steele, and the conversation moved on something else, thankfully.

~

He was able to forget about it soon enough. Then, too soon after, it happened again.

It was embarrassing, really. He’d been getting some sleep in the barracks between shifts until his dreams became nightmares. Nothing specific, just an amalgamation of all the horrors he had seen after a few months of fighting. He woke up stifling a scream to Steele shaking him gently.

CT-8178 got his bearings quickly and nudged Steele away. His blanket and some datapads littered the floor; he must have knocked them over, but he didn’t remember them being near him when he fell asleep.

“‘78,” Steele got his attention. “What was that?”

He looked away. “It was nothing, just a nightmare. I’m fine-”

“Nono no,” Steele gripped his arm tightly. He had an unreadable expression on his face but his eyes were wide in shock or excitement. “Did you see what you were doing? The room was- everything was floating! What was that?”

CT-8178 froze. He looked around the barracks again for others. Thankfully it seemed Steele was the only one who had seen anything. But he had done it again- with an entire room no less. His silence only interested Steele more.

“This isn’t new to you, is it? Have you ever-” he gasped. “The root! On our first campaign, that was you!”

He relented. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know what it is, okay?”

Steele gave him a dumbfounded look. “What else would it be? That was the Force.”

“No,” CT-8178 denied. He jumped off his bunk and paced the room, cleaning up the mess as he went.

“Yes,” Steele insisted. “Don’t pretend it’s not. I saw what I saw. _You_ did what you did. ‘78, this is amazing! Why do you think it’s a bad thing?”

“Because it is, Steele. It just is,” he said. When the other clone just stared at him, CT-8178 stopped pacing the room.

“It’s a bad thing because clones aren’t supposed to be different. This isn’t some small thing like blond hair or webbed toes. It’s dangerous different. I can’t control it and even if I could someone is going to notice. They’ll report me and then what will happen? I’ll be taken away for testing and never see the light of day or any of my brothers ever again. Hells, the long necks will probably just deem me a mistake and have me decommissioned. I don’t want to be different, Steele. I want to keep my head down and finish this damned war.”

Steele sobered up. He sat down in his own bunk. “Okay, I get it. I promise I won’t tell a soul, ‘78. But look at the bright side. You're a _jetii_.”

Tired from his rant, CT-8178 sat back down too. “I’m not a _jetii_. Not fully.”

Steele shrugged. “Okay then. Just a… jet. Hey, that sounds like a good name.”

He tried it out. “Jet.” It sounded right.

“And don’t worry about control. If you practice this as much as you practice your aim at the firing range, you’ll be good in no time,” his friend assured him.

Steele dragged CT-8- _Jet_ to the firing range to get his mind off the nightmare. It helped, even if he tried to get Jet to lift an ammo pack with his mind every few minutes.

This was long from over. Jet couldn’t foresee an end in sight, but maybe with a bit of practice he could learn how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED...
> 
> ~  
> Once again, thanks to LinNight22 for the idea. If you have any ideas, let me know and I'll add it to my list!
> 
> (also Steele's 'strange twang' to his accent means he sounds scottish, like Cutup)


	8. Forced- Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet (formerly known as CT-8178) learns more about the Force... and the danger that comes with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part two! Once again, this was suggested by LinNight22.

The genetic tests used on Kamino to weed out problems measured plenty of things. One thing the cloners failed to check, though, was midichlorian count. If they had bothered to check, they would have been surprised to find it varied from clone to clone. To a Jedi in search of force-sensitive children the numbers might not have seemed like much, but even a little piece of the Force can do amazing things.

So yes. Some clones can use the force. But it is not a matter of if they can; it is a matter of if they are willing to.

~

Jet didn’t know anything about midichlorians. He just knew that something made him do the kinds of things only the generals could. Not nearly to the same extent- General Unduli had once lifted an entire boulder to the awe of her troops and all Jet could do was knock over chairs accidentally. But it was something. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be excited or scared.

It had been a few days since Steele had convinced him to actually do something to control his ability. Not that either of them knew what that meant. Jet had ignored it for so long he hardly knew where to start. The few times he had done anything hadn't been situations he wanted to recreate. There must be some way for him to... unlock it, for lack of a better word.

Jet was finding he was at a loss for words more often than not.

In the meantime, Arbor company was back on Coruscant, which meant a rare visit from their general. The halls were packed with troops trying to catch a glimpse of the famed master. Jet was no exception, if only for Steele dragging him along to try and get a few words in with General Yoda. His friend insisted _this_ was the best way to help him.

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Jet argued.

Steele raised his hands in defense. “I won’t tell him, promise. We’ll just ask him a few questions. Get what we need, and he’ll be none the wiser.”

Jet glared at him. “Fine. But only because I can’t think of anything better. I can’t keep accidentally levitating things.”

With that in mind, Jet kept pace down the crowded hall. He could catch glimpses of a hoverchair and small clawed hands shaking those of soldiers. They were nearing the bridge, where he would no doubt be stopped before he could follow the general in. Steele yanked him through the last remaining troops and shoved him in front of the hoverchair. Directly into the general.

“Sorry! Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to-”

“Fine, it is. Something to say, you have,” General Yoda said. It took Jet a second to get used to the backward sentences but he pushed on. He had his chance and he wasn’t planning on messing it up. Jet pulled his helmet off and cleared his throat.

“I wanted to know how to- how _you_ uh, use the Force,” he hedged. “How does it work?”

General Yoda gave Jet a curious look. “A common question that is not. Answer it though, I will.”

“For each who is connected to it, the Force means something different, whether they can control it or not. Meaning and purpose one must find in the Force- your place find, and your center you find.”

Jet blinked. “Okay,” he said. It was a lot of information that surprisingly made some sense to him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Yes,” General Yoda smiled. He directed his hoverchair the last few meters to the deck entrance, turning it back to face Jet before going inside. “One thing more: meditation helps, I find.”

Jet and the other clones standing nearby saluted before the blast door closed. Steele had caught up at some point and patted his back. “Teamwork, huh?” Jet rolled his eyes.

“Why’d you ask him that?” a helmeted trooper asked. Jet recognized the pattern as his squad leader- Moore was his name now. The other clones who had been trying to get the general’s attention voiced their confusion, too.

“I-” He looked to Steele for help.

“Cause _jetii_ are cool. I mean, do you know how the Force works?” Steele scoffed. He slung an arm over Jet’s shoulders. It seemed to work, and the others scattered back to their various stations. Steele turned to give a crooked grin to Jet. “I heard the General’s only stopping by, not coming with us when we leave. Which means we have time for… 79’s?”

Jet sighed. “Sure. But after that, I apparently have to try some meditation.”

~

The bar was crowded even in the early afternoon, with clones fitting in one last slice of city life before they were back on the front lines.

Jet and Steele, along with a few more 41st brothers the latter had pulled along, crammed into a corner booth. Cache, the resident contraband dealer, bought them a round. Jet was happy to watch the others laugh and shout while he sipped his drink. He really wanted to try the meditation Yoda had mentioned, but he’d always seen General Unduli and Commander Offee do their meditation in quiet, empty areas. 79’s was not that place, but Jet also didn’t want to cut short his last hours of R&R.

It was worth a shot. If it didn’t work here, he could always try again when he got back to the ship.

Jet closed his eyes, moving his hands down from the tabletop to his lap. Steele and Moore pushed against him on each side but he blocked them out. He should try and concentrate on… what? He needed to find his purpose. His place. Well, that was simple. His place was with the 41st. Working with Moore, beside Steele.

Like a light being turned on, Jet felt every presence around him. He couldn’t think of a good way to describe it, only that now all of General Unduli’s Force-preaching made sense. “The Force will be with you,” she always said. Now, Jet could see- or maybe feel- that it was.

Right now, it felt energetic. When Steele cracked a joke and the table erupted in laughter, he could sense the tension leaving his brothers bit by bit. Jet relaxed and let himself float.

“Hey,” Steele elbowed him, pulling him out of his trance. Had he been in a trance? “You okay in there?”

“Yeah, I think the general's advice helped,” he said. Even then he could faintly feel the Force around him after he had stopped meditating. Jet had no way of telling if it would help his accidental Force-use but it was a good start.

Then, the energy that buzzed in the air lessened by a fraction. Jet couldn’t pinpoint where it had come from, but the negative energy was gaining traction. He felt it get close when a pale-faced clone in a bridge officer uniform slumped into the end of the booth. Jet leaned forward to hear him better.

“...n’ they haven’t seen him since,” he mumbled.

“Who?” Jet asked. The officer didn’t reply, slumping on another clone’s shoulder who patted his back in sympathy. Cache, who the officer had been talking to, explained to Jet.

“His buddy from the 130th went missing. He got recalled to Kamino and they haven’t heard from him since.”

He creased his brow. The story was sad and uncommon, but not unheard of. Jet had a gut feeling there was something more, though. “Why? What did he do wrong?”

The officer looked up again, swiping someone else’s drink. He downed it and looked at Jet. “There were rumors. Rumors he used the Force. He was a _jet_ -”

“That’s impossible,” Steele interrupted. He glanced nervously at Jet. “Those are just rumors.”

“Doesn’t matter if they were just rumors. They got him noticed, and his general reported him to Kamino. He’s probably being experimented on, or reconditioned, or- or deactivated! Killed!”

“Okay, it’s alright, brother. Let’s get you back to the barracks; you look tired,” Moore pulled himself out of the booth and leaned the officer’s arm over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you boys back at the ship.”

Jet wondered if his terror showed on his face enough for Moore to have noticed and done something about it. Regardless, he was grateful. Steele tried to distract him the rest of the afternoon, buying another round with his meager allowance, and even pulling a scantily-clad Zabrak over to him. It didn’t help much, and eventually Jet made his way back to the shipyard after apologizing to the Zabrak who was a nice guy, really, but duty calls and all that.

79’s was conveniently in walking distance from all of the military buildings, but still far enough away that Jet was stuck in his thoughts. He wasn’t the only clone who was Force-sensitive, he knew that now. But he had learned that his worst fears were legitimate. If someone with less than good intentions found him out he would be taken away. It wasn’t the fear that he would be experimented on or killed that sent a shiver down his spine; whatever had happened to that other clone, he was never seen again. He would never see his brothers again and that is what scared Jet the most.

He got back to the shipyards. The Arbor company’s Venator was there, the closest thing he had to a home. Even from a distance, he could see General Yoda leaving the ship in the direction of the Jedi temple. They would be leaving soon. He commed Steele.

“Jet,” Steele’s worried voice came through. “Why didn’t you tell me you left? Where are you?”

“Back at the ship, and I’m fine. Just get back here. We’re shipping out soon,” he sighed. Made his way to the ship’s entrance near the barracks.

“I will, but are you okay? That rumor shook you up.”

Jet huffed. “That wasn’t a rumor and you know it.” Steele’s optimism was getting frustrating.

“Even if it’s not, you’ll be okay, Jet. You’re not stupid enough to get caught.”

“You think the other guy was? I can’t even control-” he cut off his raised voice. There were people in the halls and he waited for them to pass. “You’ve seen what happens. It’s a miracle I haven’t done it in front of the rest of the squad yet,” Jet whispered into the communicator.

Steele was silent through the call for a moment. “I don’t know what to say, Jet. Just… hang in there. We’ll figure it out eventually.”

“That’s not-”

“Oh, gotta go- we’re helping ‘54 sober up. Shiny can’t keep his drink down! See you in a bit!” Steele hung up.

Jet let out a growl of frustration. He passed through the automatic door to his shared rooms and fell into his bunk. The datapad by his head immediately started blinking. He glared at it.

The screen shattered. One side was even a little dented.

The clone let out a laugh. He had to admit it was a little satisfying. His smile faded when he caught Moore’s eye in the bunk across from him.

“Uh, it’s not what you think?” he tried.

Moore blinked. He stood up and picked up the broken technology, inspecting the damage. “What was it General Yoda mentioned?”

“... meditation.”

He nodded. “Might want to practice that,” Moore said. He tossed the datapad in the trash on his way out the door. Jet relaxed back into his bunk.

Guess he should practice a bit.

~

Jet meditated everywhere. In his bed, in the mess hall, even on some particularly boring patrol shifts. He also visited the training gym more often. Steele was mostly a good sport about being constantly beaten, if only for how impressed he was by Jet’s skills. It was like he knew what his opponent was going to do even before they did.

He was also slowly getting the hang of his telekinesis. While he couldn't practice it as often any success was exhilarating. Steele and him would find an empty storage closet and start with the smallest objects. The first time he tried, all Jet could do was knock over a can. Within a week he could lift crates. A month, the entire contents of the room including a very giddy Steele.

Even before he could lift heavier things, Jet noticed his accidental Force-use was waning. It was like all his energy had been bottled up, and now that he knew how to use it, it flowed freely.

Steele was always by his side to come up with excuses when they were late and get back up for another round of sparring. Moore never told anyone what he knew, and although it was an unnecessary fear to have Jet was grateful anyways. He was a great leader and climbed the ranks quickly, eventually donning a kama and pauldron.

As soon as he had come back from ARC training Moore told Jet that he wasn’t the only one. There were more clones like him, and Moore had met them in training and asked them about all they knew. That was how Jet learned secondhand from Moore about battle meditation. His squad had not failed a mission since.

Jet also learned on his own of Force visions. It was similar to any of the nightmares he and his brothers were used to, but the only difference was it hadn’t happened yet. He thought his mind was just getting a bit creative.

Until the next day when it became a waking nightmare. The small Separatist force that attacked was dealt with quickly, but not before a kamikaze vulture droid crashed into the starboard hangar. The explosion cut out the ray shield airlock and anything not locked down was sucked into space. The ships inside were magnetically locked in place but the troopers weren’t.

Jet was quick and grabbed onto the y-wing he had been near. He looked around- there were only a handful of people in the room and most of them were gripping onto something, but some were being pulled out alarmingly fast.

Where was the emergency door? Why was it taking so long?

They were getting closer to open space, clawing helplessly at the ground. He needed to do something. It wasn’t a matter of if he could do it, just a matter of dealing with the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO BE CONTINUED... AGAIN.
> 
> Okay, initially this was going to be just another one chapter but it broke into two with the sheer amount I wrote out. Then, I read this: https://tinyurl.com/ya6vgtlf (I highly recommend using AdBlock on this site) comic and was ~INSPIRED~ once again so I changed some things around and now it’s three parts! Oops!  
> I highly recommend reading this comic not only because it’s really fun but it’ll help with some context for part 3 :) thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, who's excited for tomorrow's episode?


	9. Forced- Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet is forced down a new path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final installment of Forced! I had a great time writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it! If you haven't read the comic I linked at the end of the last chapter it's not required to understand this chapter but there is a character featured from it. It's also really good.  
> Once again, story prompted by LinNight22

Kamino had received _many_ reports on possibly force-sensitive clones. All had been recalled back for reprogramming on record, a few cases for further testing off-record.

None had ever shown. Whether it be that they had died en route or went AWOL, not a single one had reached their destination. Most Kaminoans had been relieved; it wasn’t their problem to deal with anymore. Some were more frustrated they couldn’t see for themselves if it was possible, but there were more important things that needed to be done. There was a war happening, after all. The Republic always needed more soldiers.

~

The airlock was down. The emergency blast doors were taking their sweet time. Of the roughly two dozen clones in the hangar, three were currently being pulled out into open space. Even if their airtight helmets protected them for a minute before their oxygen ran out, the Separatist gunners would get to them soon enough.

Jet could do something. He had to; there was no other choice.

He kept one arm braced to the y-wing he was gripping onto and let go of it with the other. His right arm whipped forward with the pull from the vacuum of space. He reached out to where the three men were sliding away and _pulled_.

They kept moving away, but gradually slowed to a stop inches from where the shields had been. Jet was playing tug-of-war with a force more powerful and relentless than what he could compete against. Where were the emergency doors?

He held them in place for what felt like minutes, more likely seconds. At one point he let go of the y-wing, enough to slide closer to the men. The wind rushed past him, nearly ripping his helmet off but he held his ground against it. Finally, he heard a thunk and the durasteel doors shuttered closed. The clones he was holding stayed suspended a foot above the ground for another second before Jet dropped them and fell to the floor in exhaustion himself.

He looked up from his new spot in the center of the hangar. It was silent. It felt like every eye was on him and in all likelihood they probably were. It was only another strung out second of silence before a medic in the room came to his senses and ran over to the dazed men by the doors. Dazed, but alive and safe.

Everyone else was still facing Jet. They knew he was responsible- they had seen him do it. Even with his helmet on, they would know it was him with his distinctive armor. Normally he loved the dents and scrapes he had collected across the galaxy, but they were a detriment to him now.

“Jet…” someone said surprisingly close to him. It was Steele, who’d snuck up behind him. Moore was a step behind the other clone, too. But what could he say to fix this? He had kept Jet’s secret but this was an entire room of clones he barely knew- not his best friend and trusted leader. So, he ran.

There wasn’t anywhere to go except the barracks so that’s where Jet went. He paced around the confined space until Steele and Moore caught up. 

This time, Moore started. “Jet-”

“What am I gonna do? They’re gonna send me back to Kamino, I’m- shit, what do I do?” Jet rambled.

“They can’t send you back if nobody reports anything,” Steele said.

“What do you mean?”

Moore straightened his back, looking every bit the ARC trooper he was. “The men in there won’t say anything. They all swore to silence. And I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Jet let himself relax, slumping onto his bunk. “Thank you.” He was tired. Using that much of the Force was draining. Steele sat down next to him with a smile while Moore stepped into the hallway to take a call.

“That was amazing what you did back there,” Steele said. “The stuff you can do is incredible, if the natborns can’t see that shame on them.”

Jet hummed in agreement. “I’d rather they just never found out.”

“Then you’re out of luck,” a grim-faced Moore said. He leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. “The security holos caught everything. The admiral saw it, saw you using the Force.

You’re being sent back to Kamino for genetic testing tomorrow.”

~

The next day started like any other. Jet woke up (a bit more tired than usual) and ate breakfast in the mess hall (with two cups of caf instead of the usual one). There were some stares of awe and whispers directed at him, but Steele resolved them quickly by giving Jet a noogie.

“They just needed a reminder that you’re just as bone-headed as the rest of us,” he explained.

The admiral was another story. The man was the de facto leader in General Yoda’s absence and had been the one to call Moore the previous night. Had called for a shuttle to bring Jet back to Kamino in twelve hours.

In the meantime, Jet had to act like nothing had changed. Like Moore hadn't broken protocol and told him what was happening, and planned to get him out. As much as Jet hated the idea of leaving he knew it was the only way he’d survive.

The night had been spent making calls in hushed tones to whoever would pick up. Moore tried to contact his force-sensitive friend from ARC training to no avail. Jet gave up calling after the first three went unanswered, and settled on meditating. He was soon interrupted by Steele sliding through the door in just his blacks. The man had been stopping by each barrack room all night in search of someone who could help, and it seemed like he had succeeded with the grin on his face. Sure enough, Cache came in behind him looking less groggy than the rest of them. He was probably used to late nights with his smuggling operations.

“He can help. He’s got connections with everything and everyone!”

The clone in question tossed Jet a contraband candy bar. “Sure do. There’s an operation run by some boys from the 501st med team that helps get decommissioned clones out. I bet they can do the same for you, though it might be tricky because you won’t be presumed dead,” he explained.

“Yes. That sounds great,” Moore looked relieved. “How soon can they be here?”

Cache shrugged nonchalantly. “They’re fast. The longest they’d take is maybe a day.”

It would be close, but it would have to do.

At dinner, Cache reported back to him. The extraction team would be able to get to them in time. As for his scheduled pickup, they would need to mind trick the crew.

“Mind trick? I don’t know how to do that!” Jet hissed.

“Relax, it’ll all work out,” Cache assured him.

~

Jet didn’t sleep. He had packed his few belongings and promptly stared at the ceiling, occasionally checking the time. At five minutes to 2300 hours he got up to leave. Steele and Moore followed him out, too. Jet hadn’t even realized they were awake, but didn’t argue. He needed all the help he could get. Besides, they still needed to say goodbye.

Cache was already in the hangar, talking to someone on his communicator. When he noticed the other three come in he waved them over. “They’ll be here soon. I’ve got a slicer buddy of mine hiding their signal.”

“You have this all planned out really well,” Steele noted. Cache shrugged.

“It has to be, or else we’d get caught.”

True to his word a small dinged-up ship landed in front of them without any trouble. In the distance, Jet could see another ship- a much nicer Republic one- approaching as well. The wide cargo doors of the ship in the hangar opened and Jet held his breath.

The clone that stepped out was different, somehow. His hair was scruffy and past regulation length and his clothes weren’t armor or blacks, but that wasn’t what made him different. It might have been the way he held himself, or the glint in his eyes. Not only that, but Jet could _sense_ that he was just like him.

“Gentlemen,” Cache announced. “Let me introduce you to Glitch. Smuggler extraordinaire of both contraband and men, and a genuine _jetii_ -clone.”

The clone nodded. “Nice to meet you,” he looked over the others but his eyes landed on Jet. “You must be Jet.”

Jet quickly straightened and saluted Glitch. He wasn’t sure what else to do. “Sir.”

“Ah, you don’t need to do that. You’re probably a higher rank than I was when I left,” he chuckled. “We can talk more later, but for now we just need to get you outta here.”

Sure enough, the other ship landed. It was at the opposite end of the hangar. Moore took the lead and Glitch and Jet followed him to the shuttle. On the way they passed the unrepaired damage from yesterday. The ray shields were back on but there was still a scorch mark from the vulture droid’s crash.

“So,” Jet said suddenly. He needed to distract himself. “You’re a Jedi.”

Glitch wrinkled his nose. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I mean, do _you_ call yourself a Jedi?”

Jet shrugged. “No, I guess not. Don’t you want to be, though?”

“I used to,” he mused. “Back when nobody believed I could use the Force. I wanted to be different from all my brothers, but I realized it was better to be with them than apart.”

“Yeah,” Jet agreed. It suddenly hit him that he would probably never see his brothers in the 41st in person again. He looked over his shoulder to Steele, still on the other side of the hangar.

“Jedi have too many rules, anyways. No attachments is a big one. I could never give that up, you know?”

“So you don’t like Jedi?” he asked.

Glitch shook his head. “No, no. It’s just… not the kind of place for a clone, even a force-sensitive one. Yoda’s your general, right? I heard he was the first general to let clones use names. That’s great, but he’s also never here, is he?”

“No,” Jet confirmed. “That’s kind of how this mess started.”

They were nearing the shuttle. Glitch smiled at Jet. “Hey, watch this.”

A natborn officer stepped out looking groggily at a datapad. He caught sight of the three clones walking toward him and squinted. “Which one of you is CT-8178? Hey! You’re not wearing regulation clothes!”

Jet and Moore looked at Glitch, wrapped in a scraggly brown poncho but looking nonplussed. He stepped forward to the officer and waved a hand in front of his face. “The clone already got on your ship,” he said with a gentle forcefulness.

“The clone already got on my ship,” the officer repeated.

“You can finish your forms in the cockpit and then leave.”

“I can finish my forms in the cockpit and then leave,” he mumbled, shuffling back into the ship. Glitch winked at Jet.

“Woah,” said Jet. He would have to learn that trick. Glitch didn’t seem to be finished, though, because he followed the man onto the ship. Jet and Moore shared a nervous glance when they heard a loud thunking sound. A side of the ship popped off and landed on the floor of the hangar. Glitch came back out brushing his hands off, a smug grin on his face.

“What was that?” Moore asked.

“Escape pod,” Glitch explained. “Don’t wanna get the poor guy in too much trouble. He can just say Jet escaped.”

The ship that was supposed to take Jet to his doom left without him. He was halfway to freedom. All he had to do now was say goodbye to everything and everyone he had ever known. Simple. Cache was picking through the supplies on Glitch’s ship and stuffing some of them in his pack. Steele was only half-watching while also glancing back at Jet. He had never looked so crushed before.

“Go on,” Glitch motioned to the others. “Take your time saying goodbye. I’ll wait in the ship.”

Jet thanked him and turned to his brothers. He didn’t know what to say, though luckily he was cut off by a suffocating hug from Steele. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said. In Jet’s ears his friend’s voice sounded tearful. He returned the hug with the same strength. Their armor got in the way and pinched but neither of them noticed.

“I won’t. Promise,” was all he could say. He wiped at his eyes before turning to Moore. They gripped each other’s forearms. “Thanks for everything, sir.”

Moore nodded. “See you on the other side.” Jet couldn’t tell if he was referring to the war or life. The latter still seemed more likely at this point, though.

Cache gave him a lazy salute as he stepped inside the ship. He caught Glitch’s eye from the cockpit and signaled him to go. The engines whined to life. The ship lifted off the ground as the doors closed. Jet slumped against the wall. “I can’t believe I just did that. I just _deserted_.”

“You didn’t have much choice, Jet. Don’t worry though. You can still help fight behind the scenes if you want, or we can find you a place to stay safe and out of the way. It’s up to you,” Glitch called from the front.

Jet paused, building up some courage before calling back. “Could you train me?”

“Come up here so I can talk to you properly!” The other clone shouted. Jet made his way into the cockpit and sat hesitantly in the copilot seat. He asked the question again. Glitch set the ship into hyperspace before spinning to face him. He leaned forward on his knees.

“Is that what you want to do?”

Jet blinked. “Yes,” he said. “It’s all I have left.”

Glitch leaned back again. He looked Jet up and down, looked _inside_ him with the Force before taking a breath. “Okay then. Lesson one: the Force flows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> May 4th is tomorrow and there is a LOT happening. I probably won't add any more installments for a while but I have tons of ideas that just need to be written out. Also, feel free to leave more suggestions!


	10. Tranyc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Siege of Mandalore, and a clone trooper helps a Mandalorian. Inspired by @pixelchaos00 's initial idea for some background soldiers and @suja-janee 's art of the two!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the long break, but I had my finals week and then got the big Writer’s Block™ . Today was amazing because I got my final grades back of all A's and I got some inspo from some cute OCs! Hope you enjoy, and big thanks to @pixelchaos00 and @suja-janee for the idea, hope y'all like it!

Tranyc [TRAH-neesh]. Mando’a for sunny

~

The fighting was only getting rougher. The darkness, shouting over blaster fire, and the increasing amount of rubble only made it worse. Calor hoped Commander Tano was doing okay, wherever she was.

He was just a grunt and wasn’t privy to all the intel like where or what the commanders were doing. Despite that, he worried. Calor idolized his ex-commander and had jumped at the opportunity to join the 332nd and paint her colors on his armor. After a hard-fought battle on Geonosis the girl had carried Calor to medics and saved his life, he was forever in her debt and was proud to fight with her. But, he was in no position to help her now. All he could do was fire towards the crimson-red Mandalorian armor he could barely see through the smoke.

Around him were his brothers in matching orange, blue, and white. A few of the other Mandalorians- the Nite-Owls, they called themselves- were dotted around, too. He wasn't sure what to think of them, but if the commander trusted them, he would too. Besides, they were skilled fighters. Calor doubted they would be holding their ground as well as they were if not for the extra help. He also loved the jet-packs they had given the troops, especially the rockets they included.

The only downside: the other guys had rockets, too. Calor had dodged a few already and was wondering when the bastards would run out. He heard the _fwoosh_ of another one launching, momentarily looking up to see if he was in the blast radius. It was a good distance away, he would be fine. The Nite-owl in its direct path though, would not.

“Look out!” he shouted. The Mandalorian in question still hadn’t noticed, too focused on firing at Maul’s troops. Calor fired a few more shots before running out from his cover towards them, but he was too late. The rocket landed and shoved him back into the crumbling ground. His helmet kept the smoke out of his lungs but he had to wave his aching arms to clear the dust. The Mandalorian was on his side, one ankle bent at an awkward angle. He wasn’t moving, either.

The smoke and dust were clearing again as a gust of wind passed from a gunship and Calor could see the enemy soldiers advancing. He was still out in the open. So was the unconscious soldier.

Calor sighed, and leaned down to pull them behind some nearby clones. Usually it would be effortless to pull one body but the blast had winded him. He collapsed next to the Mandalorian as soon as they were out of the way. “Hey,” a trooper nudged him. Calor looked up, it could have been Redd or Potshot, it was hard to tell. “We’re gonna have to retreat to the next bridge soon, get him out of here.”

He nodded numbly. He made the others promise to retreat soon as well before hefting the unconscious body up. The Mandalorian seemed to wake up with the jostling and yanked away from Calor.

“What’s going on?” he shouted. His helmet, now sporting a crack from the blast, turned side-to-side, taking in his new position on the battlefield.

Calor raised his hands in peace. “Sorry, I was just trying to carry you to the med station. You got hit.”

The soldier relaxed slightly. He didn’t say anything more, just allowed Calor to lead him away from the fighting. He slung an arm around Calor’s shoulders while the clone braced him by the waist. The noise muffled the further they went and soon both of their heavy breathing was audible. Calor didn’t want to admit it, but he was tired. Exhausted.

The nearest med station was under the eave of a mostly-intact building, and seemed to be only for Bo-Katan’s forces. Calor couldn’t see another set of clone armor in the area but his. Nevertheless he led the soldier- whose name he still didn't know, he should fix that- to an empty spot. Easing him onto a cot, he asked. “I never got your name?”

The Mandalorian caught his breath, unreadable helmet caught on Calor. “Dral. Dral Arpat,” he answered. _Glowing Seed_ , Calor translated in his mind. Dral’s voice caught him by surprise, too. It was steady for someone currently bleeding out, with probably a few broken bones. “Yours?”

“Calor,” he answered. He sat down next to Dral as he said it. Nevermind he had to rendezvous with his team- it could wait. He should make sure the man got medical attention, first. Speaking of which, none of the medics had come over. Looking around, Calor could see a fair amount. They weren’t wearing helmets. Their blonde hair waved as they turned to look at Dral and him. Their blue eyes squinted, in what looked like apathy. One doctor passed nearby and Calor reached out to get her attention. “Excuse me-”

“We’ll get to him when we can, there are more important injuries at the moment, clone.” she interrupted, heading toward another soldier.

Calor gaped. “He got hit by a rocket!” Dral shrugged it off.

“I’m fine. You can go.”

“No, you need help,” Calor insisted. “Get up.”

“What?”

He pulled Dral up again, making sure he was steady on his feet. “I’m bringing you to the clone medics.”

~

It was further away, nearer to the actual fighting, too. Luckily there weren’t too many wounded there either and a medic helped carry Dral to an open cot as soon as he saw the two. Seeing that the soldier was finally getting some help, he turned to leave.

“Oh no you don’t,” a hand caught Calor’s shoulder. The medic shoved him into the cot next to Dral. “You aren’t in shape either. Stay here, and I’ll be back with some bacta for the both of you.”

Calor relented easily. He commed a few of his squadmates to check in before leaning back in the cot. His bucket dug into his neck, so he pulled it off. He looked at the design he had painted on, checking for any scratches he would have to cover up. Out of the corner of his eye, Dral was staring at him.

Maybe he wasn’t, Calor thought. It was hard to tell with the helmet still on his head, but it was facing him and Dral had stopped moving, seemingly frozen in place.

“Dral? You okay?” he asked worriedly. The Mandalorian jumped a bit and turned away.

“Yeah, 'm fine.”

“Where’s that medic?” Calor wondered aloud. “I brought you here so you could actually get some help.”

Dral shrugged again. “It’s fine, really. My ankle doesn’t even hurt that much,” he said with a strained voice. Calor looked down at the other’s boots. His right ankle was visibly swollen even underneath the layers of his armor.

“Sure,” Calor chuckled. Luckily, the medic was coming back. He turned to Dral first, checking over his injuries and asking the basic medical questions. The medic fussed over the ankle injury for a while before addressing Dral again.

“I think you’ve got a head injury, too. Can you take off your helmet?”

Dral hesitated. “Ah, yeah,” he sighed. “I have the _worst_ helmet hair. Watch this:”

He tugged off his helmet before counting down from three on his fingers. At first, his dark hair stayed slicked back, but right on schedule his hair puffed out in every direction. It was unruly and nearly chin-length, framing Dral’s face that Calor could now see.

Calor had imagined him to look (and when had he been imagining Dral's face?) similar to the other Mandalorians he had seen. Pale, thin blonde hair and permanent scowls on their faces. Dral was nothing like the others. His tan skin was nearly as dark as Calor’s own, and despite the blood on his face he looked like a shiny, untouched by the weight fighting a war put on you. In short: he was pretty. He seemed unhappy with his hair but still gave a weak smile to Calor. The clone smiled back.

The clone medic patched up the cuts and scrapes Calor had acquired and tossed some painkillers to each of them before moving onto other patients.

“Thank you!” Dral called to him. Calor was relieved to see he was looking much better. His eyes caught Dral’s again and the two simply sat next to each other. A rare moment of calm on the battlefield.

Calor thought back to the Nite Owl medics, how they had been so cavalier with Dral and him. He didn’t want to pry, but he was curious. “Why did the other Mandalorians treat you like that?”

Dral’s eyes dimmed. Calor immediately regretted asking. “I was… adopted by Mandalorians. I’m not genetically one of them. But, my parents taught me that part of Mandalore warrior culture is adoption, teaching those in need of a home the ways of a warrior,” he explained. “I want to be a Mandalorian- it’s all I've ever known! Some of them don’t agree. They think I'm an outsider, just like Maul.”

“That’s banthashit,” Calor scoffed. “I didn't see you fighting much before you got hit but you certainly looked a real Mandalorian warrior. A _veman verd_.”

Dral’s jaw dropped. “You speak Mando’a?”

“Sure I do. A lot of us clones do- our instructors taught us. They were Mandalorians, just like our template- Jango Fett.”

“Jango Fett? They don’t seem to think he’s a _veman verd_ around here either.” Dral laughed. “I’ve heard of him, but I didn’t realize he was the base for you, a-and the other clones. You’re-”

“I’m what?” Calor asked when Dral cut himself off.

“... very beautiful,” he finished. Calor’s cheeks were suddenly very warm

“Eh, you’ve seen one of us, you’ve seen us all.”

“No,” Dral disagreed. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget your face, Calor.”

~

They spent the rest of the night at the med station. At some point, an excited clone ran in with the news that Maul had been captured- they’d won. Calor wrapped Dral in a hug, who returned it fiercely. They pulled back enough to look at each other, and Dral leaned forward to touch their foreheads together. Calor couldn’t shake the dopey smile off of his face for a while after that.

When the medics walked around instructing the injured soldiers to get some shut-eye, the two hushed their conversation to a whisper. Calor tried to stay up, he really did, because Dral was telling him about his life growing up and it was fascinating to learn everything nat-borns did differently than he had as a cadet. His exhaustion got the better of him, though, and he dreamed of seeds sprouting into flowers.

The next morning, Redd and Potshot woke him up. They were giving him smug looks. Calor was confused until he realized what they were looking at. He was holding Dral’s hand, even as the Mandalorian still slept. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away to follow his squad.

They debriefed with the commanders. Half of the 332nd were returning to Coruscant with Maul, while the rest stayed behind to finish their affairs and help rebuild. Calor was not subtle in requesting to his CO that they stay on Mandalore. The news that the war was wrapping up had mixed reactions as it swept through the company. It was a relief, but what happened next for them?

After the debrief, he ran back to the med station to tell Dral the good news. He caught him just as he was being released. The cut on his face was healing into an impressive scar. As soon as he noticed Calor coming towards him his face lit up.

“You’re back!”

Calor smiled. “You recognize me?”

Dral gave him a look. “Of course I do. I told you I’d never forget your face, didn’t I?”

“I-” Calor was left speechless again. He shoved his nerves down before continuing. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be here another few days. I know you’re all hoping the GAR leaves quickly, we just need to pack up our things”

“Oh. Okay,” Dral acknowledged. “What’s next for you?”

“I don’t know. Count Dooku is dead, General Kenobi killed General Grievous, and we captured Maul. All that’s left is to round up the rest of the Separatist leaders, but they’re all just politicians. They won’t give much of a fight.”

“The war is over for you, isn’t it?” Dral asked.

“I- yeah,” Calor breathed. “I never thought I’d live to see the end of it.”

“So… what’s next for you after that? When there’s no need for an army anymore?”

Calor slumped into the cot next to Dral. “Force. I don’t know.”

Dral studied his face for a moment, then turned to watch the soldiers packing up the medical supplies. “I was thinking I might leave Mandalore.”

“What? Your whole life is here, you said so last night.”

He shrugged. “Eh, I’ve never really fit in around here. And I’ll be a Mandalorian wherever I go, right?”

Calor relaxed, tapping his head to Dral’s. “Right.”

“Tell you what,” Calor proposed. “When I’m called back to Coruscant, you come with. We’ll get a ship there- my commander can help, she knows a lot about ships- and…”

“And what?”

“We’ll figure it out on the way,” said Calor. “If that’s what you want?”

Dral smiled. The morning had been cold, but by his side, Calor only felt warmth. “It is.

“When the war is over, that’s what we’ll do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out @pixelchaos00 and @suja-janee on tumblr for more content on Dral and Calor!


	11. Business Practices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A clone discovers the wonderful underworld of smuggling contraband into the GAR through the journal of a dead man.

_Hyperdrives function preserving the mass of a ship despite the pressure of lightspeed travel using hypermatter particles to-_

“Pay attention, Dex,” the clone next to him hissed under his breath. He swatted the flimsi book out of Dexter’s hands.

“Hey! These are rare! And expensive!” he whispered back. Dexter looked around his feet for the book and waited impatiently for the briefing to end. When it did, he darted for where it had fallen in the corner. Other troopers kicked it around the room and by the time it was back in his hands the cover was crumpled and dirty.

He sighed and tried to find where he’d left off. The captain gave him a tired look.

“The only reason I don’t take those things away from you is that I know you’d just find another one. And you’re at least paying attention a little, right?”

“Yes, sir. Rendezvous at point C and split into individual squads to clear out droids; it’s not that complicated,” he groaned.

The captain rolled his eyes but relaxed. “Just… don’t do that around the admirals or the general, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dexter agreed. He looked over his book again. It was hard to come across books like this and even harder to keep them safe as he traveled from battlefield to battlefield.

~

Their current residence was an old bunker base from the first year of the war. It had been abandoned for months while more forces had been needed elsewhere, but not that Separatists were trying to take back this planet it had some use again.

Dexter loved it. There were still a lot of populated towns around where he and a few friends could sneak off to on their breaks. The others usually went for the bars but Dexter walked through the flea market stalls. With his meager allowance saved up over weeks and months (He hadn’t bought soap from the commissary for a while. His bunkmates did not appreciate this.), Dexter was able to get a handful of flimsi books. Some stories, and a lot of informational books about the things they never bothered to flash-train soldiers about.

There wasn’t much space to store the books, though. It’s why most people just used datapads loaded with literature on them, but there was something Dexter liked about holding onto the pages. The books he had were always soft after being worn down by age- they had a life before he found them and would (hopefully, if his brothers stopped kicking them around) keep on existing after him. Dexter looked around the barracks for a good place to keep his stash where they’d be safe.

The vents were too high up, the lockers were too full, but his bed might work. He wouldn’t mind a slightly more uncomfortable mattress anyways. Dexter tugged the mattress up with a grunt.

There was already a book inside. Maybe a notebook- it was leatherbound and about the size of an ammo pack. Distracted from his original task, Dexter eased onto his bed with the new book. He flitted through the pages. It was nearly full with scribbled notes on every page save the last ten or so. Inside the front cover, the writer had penned in his name.

_This notebook belongs to Cache- if that isn’t you, shove off! Stealing is against regulations._

There wasn’t anyone in his battalion named Cache that Dexter knew of. He was the only one who had slept in this bunk since the front had reopened here, so whoever had this book probably wasn’t planning on coming back for it. He hesitated only a second before turning to the first page.

The first pages were just notes and scribbles. Mostly numbers, some math calculations. The final answers were usually accompanied by a credit sign. He skipped past the pages after only a glance; he would come back to them late if he could make any sense out of them.

Soon, the occasional margin note became longer sentences- it started to be a sort of journal for the original writer. He started putting the dates on the corner, and yes, it was from very early in the war.

Dexter read some of them. It felt like a bit of an invasion of privacy, but the entries were lighthearted for the most part. It detailed Cache’s work as a… smuggler. Dexter angled himself so nobody else could see the pages. No one was really paying attention to him, though. They rarely did.

Cache had been a contraband smuggler. He’d somehow gotten ahold of all the stuff clones weren't supposed to have and sold it to his brothers. The entries suggested he was good at it, too. Until he came to the last one. It was short, not an entry so much as a message.

_Got caught. Getting sent to a penal battalion in a few hours._

_If you’re reading this, be careful. Good luck with the rest of the war._

It was accompanied by a doodle of a phase I helmet (he’d seen that tagged around battlefields sometimes) with x’s for eyes. The guy certainly had a morbid sense of humor.

All the information one would need to be just as good a smuggler, albeit a more cautious one, was right here. With that came extra credits, and maybe some respect. Dexter didn’t get much sleep that night.

~

He read it. He re-read it. He weighed the risk against the reward. And, when he was ready, Dexter tried his hand at it.

As the notes suggest, he started simple. Trading rations for favors- ‘Hey, I’ll give you my lunch if you switch patrol shifts with me’. After saving up his allowance again (he’s cleaner this time around but his stomach grumbles more often than not) he sneaked back out to the nearby town. He passed the bookstalls in favor of the candy shop surrounded by children, and bought as much as he could afford. That was one thing Cache’s notebook had made clear: _sugar sells_.

It worked better than he’d expected. The brothers who were less experienced with prices outside the GAR commissaries paid him whatever Dexter asked for. The worry that he was taking advantage of them briefly passed his mind, but was there really any harm?

When the battalion left the planet and old base behind, Dexter studied the notebook again. He learned how to sew false bottoms into his backpack and belt pockets to store his contraband- which had now expanded to magazines as well. The notebook also had some scraps of Venator blueprints with hiding spots circled all across the ship.

He worked his way up. He found the contacts mentioned in the margins, took the notebook’s advice on who was trustworthy and who wasn’t. His name was more well known around the ship and his brothers loved him.

Dexter got a few interesting requests, too. A clone named Zoo once dropped off a crate full of flimsi books and requested a monkey-lizard. Luckily, Cache’s notes had extensive information on smuggling pets in _and_ the best places to get them. He sometimes got brothers asking him to bring in some spice, but he tried to avoid it. _Spice smugglers are trouble. Besides, the little brothers asking for that crap really don’t know how bad it is._

He did start selling death sticks, though. A nat-born admiral was buying them off of him (blackmail might have been a better term for that arrangement. His payment was not being court-marshaled) and the oldest troopers with greying hairs on their temples liked them, too. They said it helped calm their nerves. Dexter sometimes felt guilty, but they were often his highest paydays.

Eventually, he had to start keeping ledgers. The empty pages in the back of the notebook came in handy for that. His final numbers weren’t quite as high as the ones he saw in Cache’s notes but they were steadily getting there.

He got to the point where he didn’t know what to do with all his money. He had to hide a lot of it- their allowance savings were tracked- and he could only spend so much at a time.

The notebook barely mentioned what Cache had done with his credits. The journal entries sometimes mentioned an underground, though. Re-reading and checking through the notes near the end of the journal, Dexter guessed Cache might have been funding whatever it was.

~

On Coruscant, he was able to meet other smugglers from across the GAR. They traded stories and tips freely. Dexter remembered one passage from Cache’s journal- _We’re all in it together, and it’s a lot better that way. Yet they never offer to pay, how rude!_

The others had been doing it much longer than Dexter and knew more. They might be his best shot at finding answers to some of the things in Cache’s notes. He built up the courage and asked one, Cato, if he knew about an underground.

“Be careful, newbie,” he muttered. “Are you sure you want to open that can of worms?”

“I,” he needed to know if he wanted to be the best. “Yes. Please, tell me what you know.”

It wasn’t what he had expected. His guess had been hidden routes for transporting contraband- not moving _brothers_ around. The more Cato explained the more Dexter wondered why anyone would risk themselves to ship already decommissioned clones off to backwater planets, or deliver extra supplies free of charge. But Cato was passionate. He said most of the other smugglers were, too.

And that Dexter should join them. “You’ve got a talent, kid. We could really use you.”

Dexter’s mouth was dry. He took a swig of his drink and looked around for the exit. “I’ll think about it.”

Cato caught his arm before he could take another step. “Do not. Tell. Anyone. You’ll regret it if you do.”

He nodded and raced back to the barracks.

~

When Dexter didn’t know what to do he turned back to the notebook. He read through the entries that mentioned the underground. Parts that he hadn’t understood before made sense with what Cato had told him. Cache had been using the money he made to _fund_ the underground. To buy extra supplies when the senate didn’t approve more, to save clones by hiding them away. The end of one entry caught his eye.

_It wouldn't be worth doing any of this if it was just to make some credits. Everything I do is for my brothers, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if it gets me caught, at least I can say I did something._

Dexter wondered if this is what had gotten Cache caught, not just selling candy bars. It made more sense- what Cato was offering was ten times as dangerous. Was it worth doing?

Yes. Yes, it was. He had the means, certainly the money, and Cache had done it. The notebook had never let him down. All he could hope for was to avoid the writer’s fate. Besides, the danger just made it more interesting.

~

After accepting Cato’s offer he was loaded with assignments. The underground operation was bigger than he’d expected for how well kept its secret was.

There was always someone who needed out. For the most part Dexter only helped them part of the way until they met up with another smuggler. He never knew exactly where they went, only heard back from others that they got somewhere safe.

One day, a bridge officer shyly asked if he could send a letter out. It was addressed to a civilian on Coruscant. There was no system for communicating with civilians, and even having friends outside the GAR was strongly discouraged by regulations, so of course he’d ask the resident smuggler.

The next time he got the change Dexter delivered the letter to a doll-faced woman in the lower levels. She was beyond happy and quickly wrote a letter for him to send back. Both asked what they owed him for the task, but he told them it was free of charge. Giving him the idea was payment enough, and mail delivery became another one of Dexter's specialties.

The guys from the underground loved the idea, too. The fugitives desperately wanted updates from the front and their friends would definitely want to know they were safe. He had to be careful, though. Clones were vetted and sworn to secrecy before he delivered the letters, but it was worth it to see their teary smiles when they read the messages from brothers they had believed to be dead.

It was more dangerous, sure. He had to sneak through borders, lie to his superiors, spend his savings on bribes, and protect fugitives with his life. But he never failed. Even as he took on more responsibilities on more dangerous missions Dexter just focused on the men he was saving.

~

The encrypted communicator blipped out a new message in morse code. Dexter used some of the last empty space in his notebook to translate it.

_Rescuing troops sent to penal battalion. Need resupply. Meet ship 10 klicks north of base at 2200 hours._

Checking the time, an hour away from the meetup time, Dexter tucked the notebook in his pocket and got to work. It was a fairly simple mission. Sneaking out of the base was muscle memory at this point, but a lot harder when he had to drag a cart full of ship fuel and ration bars through the underbrush with him.

He got to the rendezvous early and sat down to wait, skimming through his notebook like he always did. When the ship arrived, he and the smuggler already onboard loaded the fuel together.

“How are they doing? The guy you rescued, I mean,” Dexter asked.

The other clone shrugged. “They’re fine, a little shell shocked, but fine.” He was older than Dexter but didn’t seem weighed down like many other veterans. “I’ve been there, done that. Corpse corps can’t hold me down!”

“You got sent to a penal battalion too?” Dexter gaped. It was unheard of to come back alive from those unless you were a living legend.

“Yep,” the trooper smiled. “Got caught doin’, well, doing this. You better be careful too.”

“I always am. I’m the best smuggler in the GAR!”

“I bet you are, kid.”

They finished loading the ship and the other clone climbed back in, giving Dexter a wave. “I never got your name!” he shouted over the engine.

“Cache,” he replied. “Good luck with the rest of the war!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: Dexter's name comes from poindexter, and penal battalions are a sort of death-wish mission troops get sent on for punishment.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!  
> I set this as the last chapter because for the most part I'm finished telling these stories. I might come back to it in the future but if not I loved doing this series! Thanks to everyone who read, commented, and gave it kudos.
> 
> ((check out my other cw fics, too!))


	12. Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking up through the water felt the same no matter where Monnk was. The plant life below might look different, the light from various suns shown differently through the waves, but the water itself was constant. Constantly moving currents and lapping waves that calmed him. Sometimes it was murky and hard to see more than a few feet, but the shallow waters he found himself in now were clear and vibrant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TARFU is back! Enjoy!

Looking up through the water felt the same no matter where Monnk was. The plant life below might look different, the light from various suns shown differently through the waves, but the water itself was constant. Constantly moving currents and lapping waves that calmed him. Sometimes it was murky and hard to see more than a few feet, but the shallow waters he found himself in now were clear and vibrant.

There was even a lot of sea life here on Pillio- which made sense. It was the provider of food for most of the republic’s ocean-dwelling species. A valuable target for those in the CIS who liked seafood as well.

Some of the sea life swam by him now, avoiding the long white flippers he wore but still watching him curiously in their home. General FIsto beside him smiled at the creatures, lifting a green hand to a brave little crab that had come near him. The boys had a bet going on whether General Fisto’s uncanny ability to commune with sea creatures was a Nautolan thing or a Jedi thing. Monnk had a feeling it was more just a Kit Fisto thing.

His mind was eased by how shallow this planet’s waters were. Monnk knew Kit was often unsettled by deep, dark waters; especially after his experiences in General Grievous' lair. It made no difference to the commander though- training on a planet like Kamnio got a clone comfortable with deep, choppy waters.

Their intel led them to a hidden fort surrounded by ancient ruins. Degrading statues covered in young coral and algae stared up at Monnk and his squad as they swam past. At his designated staging ground he idly watched fish swim by above him. The rest of the SCUBAs were on the opposite side of the fort waiting for the scouting squad’s all-clear.

He got a holo message from one of the scouts- Barracuda. He was posing with another crab and giving a thumbs-up to the camera. _All clear except for this little guy. Moving in on your mark._

Monnk smiled under his helmet. It was nice to know his troops loved the seas just as much as he did. Hopefully, they wouldn't bother the native residents too much in their attack. _Go in 3… 2…_

Infiltration was easy. Securing the area was easy. There was less opposition than expected. The challenge came when alarms began to sound through the watery halls. “Patrols report in. What’s happening?” General Fisto said into his wrist comm.

_“Beta squad here. We found the problem. Clankers set the fuel line to explode.”_

“Get everyone out, Monnk.” the general ordered over his shoulder. “How long do I have to deactivate it, Beta?”

“I’m coming with you, sir-” Monnk argued. But there was no time.

_“There’s- oh, no. NO TIME GET OU-”_ the comm line went to static seconds before a ripping shock wave pushed them out of the hall and back into the open waters.

Monnk scrambled behind an algae-covered monument for cover, pulling the nearest trooper in beside him. The water around them reverberated the sound of the explosion and debris clouded the water. Once that ended, the commander waited for the area to settle again into clear waters.

But it never did. Instead, viscous black tendrils of oil spread over the fort. Monnk watched in defeat. A fish swimming away was already half covered in the stuff, and the ruins that dotted the area were unrecognizable from the corals now that they were all black with oil. He was too busy staring at the devastation to notice his Nautolan general come up next to him. He placed a webbed hand on his shoulder and gently led him back to the ship without another word.

~

Before even taking off his filthy gear Monnk sent in a request to stay on-site for another week for cleanup and reconstruction. Then he scrubbed his suit with every cleaning agent he could find on the Venator to see what worked best at removing the oil. The mess hall’s dish soap was surprisingly effective, he noted.

To postpone checking his datapad for the inevitable news that his request would be denied, the commander stared into one of the cracked mirrors of the communal refreshers. His slicked-back hair or stubble didn’t need trimming yet, though he noticed deep bags under his eyes. Green eyes, different from most of his brothers though many said it suited him. Shinies often compared the color to their general’s skin, his captains recalled planets where they claimed his eyes matched the color of the water exactly. General Fisto once mentioned the color looked like Glee Anselm sea glass once. Monnk called it plain green. Anyways, it barely mattered. More often than not he was wearing a helmet that hid his entire face anyways.

He checked his datapad and sighed. Request denied.

~

The next morning Monnk looked down at the pollution and destruction covering the shallow reef floor, how the oil spilled into every crevice and covered everything from the plant life to the fish struggling to breathe. To think the same exact spot had been bright and clear only hours ago when he’d arrived was… disheartening, to put it lightly. Sure, the sea floor would get kicked up in every battle but the dust would always settle again. Without intervention though, this ecosystem would die. And Monnk just didn’t have the time to help.

“Sir, your commendation came in for a successful victory,” an ensign said at the door.

“Don’t want it,” Monnk muttered. When he saw the young clone stay awkwardly in place through the reflection of the window he sighed. “Just put it on the desk.”

“Yes, sir. Also: we’ve been sent to the front lines on Mon Cala. General Fisto requests you on the bridge for the jump to hyperspace.”

~

“Monnk, remember that woman you hit it off with on Castilon?’

Monk shrugged. “It was just some girl, why do you bring it up?”

General Fisto laughed, his caring smile growing impossibly larger. “Some girl? You were infatuated! You couldn’t get her off your mind, then one day she mentioned she hated swimming- and you turned around and left the cantina!”

The commander stiffened. “How do you know that?”

“Word travels fast with such things, Commander. My point is: there is nothing more important to you than the oceans of this galaxy. I understand your dedication to this, I truly do.”

He sighed and looked away. “But we have a greater duty to the Republic. Our part here is done and we must move on to where we are needed now. I’m sorry.”

Monnk searched his General’s eyes for anything but defeated sympathy. It was unprofessional, but he turned and left without another word, heading straight for his quarters. He slowed to a stop at the first window he passed, though.

Hyperspace didn’t look much like the ocean but if he unfocused his eyes enough he could imagine it. The blue still wasn’t right, though. It needed more green, more life, to truly look like the sea. Monnk closed his eyes and hoped to Force that the fight on Mon Cala would be less destructive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> I've been away for a while but have been working on a few fics in my free time. Currently, I'm planning on posting my backlog about once a week and continuing to work on new stuff, though my school year has just started and idk how much that will affect my time to work on new stuff. Just know that more is coming for the TARFU series! I can't wait to show you what I've written! :)


	13. Clone Cuisine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the diet of clones.

Clone soldiers rarely had a choice in what they ate. For the most part, it was grey mush on a platter in the cafeteria. Or plain-tasting ration bars.

Sometimes there were contraband snacks to be had, or shore leave which let them explore restaurants near the barracks- at least the ones that allowed clones inside. Civilian food was a rarity unless you knew the right brothers.

The easiest way to get some was from the smugglers. Give them the rest of your allowance or let it slide when they’re late to their shift and a pack of Rodian chocolates might be waiting for you in the barracks. Cross them, though, and you’re more likely to find spices in your rations that are made for species with a very different sense of taste.

Once the Jedi generals learned of their troop’s lack of meal variation many took it upon themselves to help. Mostly, this came in the form of taking their commanders out to their favorite restaurants on shore leave.

Kit brings Monnk out for some Glee Anselm-style sushi. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi often takes ghost company to Dex’s with varying reactions (the greasy fried food is great for most of them, but Cody is a bit surprised with his general’s questionable taste in food for how picky he is with his teas).

General Skywalker goes to a kebab stand in Little Tatooine on Coruscant with Rex when Ahsoka isn’t insisting they just get pizza instead. The commander also sometimes gets lunch with Bariss, though they often disagree on where to go. The Mirialan is a vegetarian who prefers a fresh smoothie bowl, but Ahsoka would rather have a bantha steak cooked rare.

Commander Gree, unlike his brothers, tries to avoid meals with his general. It’s always uncomfortable watching General Yoda gulp down a live frog before getting back to serious business. Master Plo doesn’t do meals with his wolfpack either, though he very much wishes he could. It’s either him or all his troops that would asphyxiate.

The cafeteria in the temple is fine, but for the most part the Jedi go out to eat when they can for their specific tastes. That, and none of them can cook. The only exception to that rule is Mace Windu. He can cook up some delicious traditional Korunnai stew and is happy to share it with his commander. Ponds has to try and hold back his tears at the overwhelming spiciness but politely wheezes a thank you.

Whatever they eat only matters so much. The food isn’t the best part, being able to share it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have any other jedi/clone cuisine headcanons?


End file.
